If--
by MaryChapel
Summary: It's the word that they've all thought at one point or another. A true double drabble (200 words per chapter, excluding page breaks/notes/titles) series spanning all twelve Districts.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Not mine, my initials aren't S.C._

One: If it's not enough...

She paces, mentally reviewing her plans. Wonder-girl entrance, check. Scoping out the (lack of) talent and intimidating the uninitiated, check. Career alliance formed, weak points identified, in progress. Training, complete. Great impressions, in progress. Interview, coming up. Final gorge, prep and entrance, plans A, B, C prepped.

Arena and backup plans. On hold. _No way I'm going to think about something that I have no data_ _on. Besides, I can handle anything they throw me. I've trained for 12 years. I got this._

 _But if it's not enough—_

 _Maybe I'm—_

 _Overconfident—_

Seeping, creeping uncertainty...

 _If it's not enough..._

 _What is?_

* * *

He slouches, swirling his drink, basking in the aura of the Capitol. _Ahhh. I was born for this. This is the life, man. Boring, but cool._

Just gotta get through the Arena. That'll be a snap, with the (highly dangerous, very expensive) unorthodox training he's received in all parts of life. And it's none of that standard excuse for training.

Two's girl had yapped "Hands off. We all got the same training, big boy!"

 _Oh, baby, you have_ _ **no**_ _idea. This is the_ _ **big**_ _game._ _ **Only**_ _the top dog can win_

… _..._

 _Boring..._

 _What?_

 _But—_

 _If_ _this isn't_ _enough—_

 _What is?_

* * *

A/N: What did you think? Stay tuned for more!


	2. Chapter 2

Two: If we don't have an important asset...

* * *

 _Smack,_ pull, thrust, release. Kick!

Breathing heavily, she smiles over the trainer. She's from a long line of driven girls. Two excels in the Games, and for good reason. _This_ reason.

Turning, she surveys the stations, considering all. _Don't rely on the Cornucopia. Too much can go wrong. Backup is crucial,_ her mentor's voice reminds her.

Jogging lightly, she makes her way over to the obstacle course. With a leap, she's on it, navigating the timed hazards lightly.

 _I was_ _ **born**_ _for this!_

Net, tunnel—

 _Stuck_ —

 **Panic** —

Time's up!

 _But..._

 _If I don't have these assets..._

 _How can I win?_

* * *

He slams the door behind him, reveling in the _thunk_ as wood hits wood. With a twist, he tears apart large pieces of decedent pizza, shoving it into his mouth, washing it down with champagne. Red room décor, dark music, and a few _other_ things— this be perfection.

Ah, he can get them later. When he's won, of course.

He sinks down into the cushioned chair, gobbling his food. _This will have to do for now._

"Hello, Two," a silk-smooth voice, a sharp knife.

 _Mentor!_

"You'd be dead now."

 _What?!_

 _This—_

 _FEAR—_

 _If I'm caught napping again..._

 _Will I win?_


	3. Chapter 3

Three: If we're hopeless...

* * *

She curled up in the corner, sobbing as quietly as she could. No telling when someone might come in.

Her career as a tribute was ill-starred from the start.

 _From bad_...

She'd tripped on the way to the stage at the Reaping, displaying a black eye and bleeding nose to all Panem...

 _...to worse..._

...fallen off the chariot and had been stepped on by the horse, (first in the history of the Hunger Games)

 _...to horrible..._

...broke her arm during training...

 _...now I'm riding a nightmare..._

...for she had just wreaked her interview...

 _If I'm so hopeless..._

 _Why even bother?_

* * *

He folded the paper in the ways his mother had before, organizing his thoughts as he organized the material into patterns passed down from mother to son long before he was born.

One: Three has never had a winner.

Two: The girl has just shown Panem that we're weak.

Three: I haven't shown them what I can do.

Conclusion: They think we're hopeless.

 _But I'm not._

Depending on the Arena, he knew if it involved electricity, he could make it work for him. After all, that was his life!

 _But, if we_ **are** _hopeless..._

 _We have the strength of despair._

* * *

 _Please review? It only takes a second or so._


	4. Chapter 4

Four: If we die...

* * *

She has always wondered what happens after death. As a tribune—well, she needs no thought as to _why._

These speculations have always come at odd moments, but never had they come at a worse time!

 _This is the point where I make my score for the world to see and I'm losing control?! How pathetic is that?_

She plunges through her final weapons demonstration, fighting more than the dummies.

 _SLAM!_

White-hot pain explodes down her arm as the sword slices through her bicep.

"Time's up, Four."

 _If I die..._

 _It better be good there, cause that's all I'm getting._

* * *

He jerks awake, shuddering violently. _Blast_ those nightmares!

Swearing under his breath, he got up and paced the room as he had done so many times...

It was always the same. An Arena full of buildings, full of booby traps. No open land, no water, no sky. An alliance, falling apart. Someone dear to him dying. And a blond, green-eyed girl killing him with a poisoned kiss.

 _Two's girl is blond...green-eyed..._

 _SILENCE!_

He slams a wall mentally down once again.

 _But..._

 _If I do die..._

The thought creeps in again, this night before the Games...

 _What will happen to me?_


	5. Chapter 5

Five: If there is any chance...

She brushes through her hair, absently marveling at the lack of soot in the gold.

 _This_ _ **is**_ _a first._

But not all the Capitol's beauty can hide its stinking, rotten soul

Her siblings' faces flash before her once more, all she has left in the world. William, strong hands gripping as if to choke someone. Lewis, poised to fly to her side. Esme, stunned to the point of fainting. The twins, clinging to each other, sobbing. Timmy, laughing and waving to her, oblivious. "Mussy on da 'tage!"

 _William..._

 _If there's any chance at all..._

 _I'll come home._

 _For you all._

* * *

He sighs as the knot fails once more for the sixth time. Old echoes of whispers heard behind doors, around corners surface once again.

 _Weak._

 _Sickly_

 _Small._

 _Puny_

Not even the men at the local power plant would let him do anything but maintenance. "Can't have you draggin' y'self into the dirt, sonny!" "Lemme take that for you, boy." "Have this cheese, kid, you need every scrap you get."

He picks up another piece of rope, tears rising as he thinks of them, kind, rough Jule, funny Kevin, wiry Nate, old Johnny...

 _If there was any chance..._

 _...any at all..._


	6. Chapter 6

Six: If we have no choice...

She watches the moving landscape, dreaming of castles, horses, a brown-eyed prince and the magic phrase "Happily ever after."

An iron beast had gnawed up that girl's father. A brown bottle had stolen her mother and baby sister. And 'justice' had taken her brother as he fought the system for her.

This was life now. All that happened in the past.

 _Not to me. A different girl._

Darker thoughts intruded, visions of a past life, but she retreated, behind her wall, to the safe recesses of her happy castle.

After all...

if one had no choice...

this wasn't too bad.

* * *

He walks the hallways, impotent fury incarnate. Everyone believed the worse about his home.

Six doesn't like to travel. Morphlings abound for no reason. Training? Don't make them laugh.

Alright, they weren't _blatant_ lies.

BUT...

 _We hate traveling because those jobs are the most dangerous and apt to catch the Capitol's eye. Only some people get caught on hyper-expensive morph-juice. And we do train for the Games...some of us..._

… _but when every kid above ten has to work to keep the family afloat, starvation seems a LOT closer than dying in the Games._

 _Choice is non-existent._

 _What can we do?_


	7. Chapter 7

Seven: If people don't THINK...

She surveys the training areas, absently wondering why everyone is working feverishly. After all, it's not like even winning is worth it, as any _intelligent_ person knows.

 _But not everyone will use their minds like they should,_ her father's voice echoes.

As for herself, well...

 _Just die before the Gamemakers get me. I do_ _ **not**_ _want to go the way Father did._

Bloodbath? Too messy. Afterwards? Too risky. Best thing to do would probably involve falling off the pedestal "accidentally". Easy, quick and failproof.

 _Anyway..._

 _If people don't think..._

 _They aren't worth it._

 _And I'm not going to make them._

* * *

He navigates the night easily. When survival is key, all your senses are honed to full alert constantly, and the Capitol is no exception. Even though nothing matters, in the end...

 _...shutting down that thought..._

Negatives get you nowhere. Neither do stereotypes.

 _Like the fact I'm the lumberjack of the year._

 _But I will not dwell on that. Not tonight before the Games._

Instead, he muses on the mysteries of the others. What do they hide behind the Capitol's categories? What potential is lost here? What dreams, ambitions, futures...

 _If people would only think..._

 _Maybe District Seven would wake up._


	8. Chapter 8

Eight: If we had hope...

Even with all the drawbacks to being actually _in_ the Games, it was nice to breath deeply for once. And the train was nice, she had to admit, sitting on cushions and rejoicing in a full belly.

 _But that was only if you could stop thinking, idiot!_

And she couldn't.

Because being on the train gave her _hope._

Something she hadn't had for a long, long time.

Hope that she could win, could come home, could _help_ her family, her people.

Hope that she could give something to District Eight

 _For if we had hope return..._

 _We could do anything!_

* * *

He sneers inwardly at his competition. Three and Six were _bad_ this year, one girl just sitting and another crying—pah!

With a twist of his arm, he flung a javelin into the arrow target, just missing the snotty brat from One. She flashed an obscene gesture. He snickered and did it again.

It was just good to feel _something._

Two's boy pulled her away as his partner caught his eye with a big smile. _**** her!_

Stupid kid off with two other younger ones, all happy-happy, joy-joy.

He slumped down.

 _If they have hope..._

Nah. There's no such thing.


	9. Chapter 9

If this is what's expected of us….

Bread. Even to a twelve year old, this seemed stupid. Why not swaying wheat stalks (would take advantage of Nine's signature gold hair) or millwheels, or grasshoppers or anything else new?

"Smile, silly!" her partner hisses.

So, she does, swaying with the familiar motions of carts, smiling and waving, making the best of things.

Because it's what's expected. Always has been. Always will be.

 _Darling, it's the people who stand out who are miserable. Blending in is our only option._

And her eyes tear up as her mother's voice echoes around her.

 _If this is expected…_

 _I'm blending in, Mama._

* * *

Running messages didn't give one much help, he thought. Sure, quickness and speed were always advantages, but they weren't enough.

 _Why? After all the work my family did for the Capitol, why me?_

He scratched his head, glad that no wheat chaff was making him do so. This was puzzling. He didn't like puzzling things.

They weren't supposed to have too many new things in District Nine. Everything could be predicted and expected. It was for their own good, as simple people.

 _But…_

 _if we need to follow the Capitol's expectations for our own good…_

 _why do_ we _always lose?_


End file.
